FIGHTING FOR LIFE

Foot by foot they fought their way through the storm, conscious that
other hurrying forms passed them from time to time. Their minds were
fixed upon one thing. They must get to Uncle Tom. He would be able to
tell them everything and perhaps let them know how they could help.

But they soon found that just getting to the lighthouse was a problem.
Time and again they had to stop and turn their backs to the furious wind
in order to catch enough breath to fight their way on.

"Look!" Connie had shouted once, pointing toward the east. "It must be
almost morning. The sky is getting light."

As they hurried on they became more and more conscious that everybody
seemed to be heading in the same direction--toward the lighthouse.

"The shoal!" gasped Connie in Billie's ear. "The wind must have driven
some ship upon it, and in this gale----"

But she never finished the sentence, for at this minute they came out
upon the Point where the lighthouse stood and stopped dead at the scene
that met their eyes.

The Point was black with people all gesticulating and pointing excitedly
out toward a great shape which, looming grayly against the lifting
blackness of the sky, staggered and swayed like a drunken thing in the
grip of the gigantic foam-tipped waves.

"Oh," moaned Connie, "it's just as I thought! There's Uncle Tom. Come on,
Billie." And she elbowed her way through the crowd to where Uncle Tom
stood, his great height making him conspicuous among the other men,
bawling out directions to the life-savers who were just making ready to
launch their staunch little boats.

"Say, do you call this hurrying?" Uncle Tom was crying, his eyes
traveling from the life-savers to the wreck and back again. "Don't you
see she's just hanging on by her eyelashes? Another sea like that and you
won't have a chance to save anybody. Good boys--that's the idea. Bend
your backs, my lads. God help you--and them!" he added under his breath,
his eyes on the laboring vessel.

"Uncle Tom!" cried Connie, tugging at his arm, "have they got a
chance--those people out there? Have they?"

He glanced down at her for a moment, then his eyes sought the furious
sea. He shook his head and his hands clenched tight at his sides.

"About one chance in a thousand," he muttered, more to himself than to
her. "The Evil One's in the sea to-night. I never saw the like of it--but
once."

Then followed a struggle of human might aga